Hello, Stranger
by melissa.kay.568
Summary: Supernatural fanfic, set during Season 8 (not 7 as stated in Disclaimer - unable to edit) and based around a conversation between Meg and Castiel in Goodbye, Stranger; hence the title. Medium level sex scenes. Long live the pizza man.


**Hello, Stranger**

 _Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. This is Supernatural fanfic, set during Season 7, and based around a conversation between Meg and Castiel in Goodbye, Stranger; hence the title. Long live the pizza man._

Her vessel was weary. Meg longed to be released from the confines of her mortal shell, which had taken a year-long battering at the hands of the King of Hell, but something about the way the angel was holding her hand while swathing it in a bandage was … comforting. Comforting, and more than mildly exciting at the same time. Frissons of something like electricity surged from her ravaged palm, all the way up her arm. The tiny hairs stood on end. He made some comment about making sure the wound didn't fester and she joked that he really knew how to make a girl's nethers quiver. Little did he know how close that was to the truth! Ever since that moment when he'd shown her what he'd learned from Dean Winchester's stolen cable porn, she'd relived the feeling of his lips on hers, over and over. Then she'd cursed herself. What the hell was wrong with her? Crushing on an angel was not only pointless, it was, well … sacrilege! Demons and angels don't go together. She was pretty confident of that bit of lore. Still, he did have a great bedside manner. And gentle blue eyes. And …

And … he was saying something. What was he saying?

'Huh?'

'I remember everything.'

She couldn't hide a smirk. 'Really?'

'I remember … the pizza man.'

'So do I,' she admitted.

'That was a good memory.'

Her vessel's stomach did flip-flops. Wow, Meg thought. That's actually a thing?! Not just some cheesy line in a bad YA novel about coming-of-age hijinks? Who knew?

'Yeah.' She took a swig of the bottle of whiskey she'd found, to settle her nerves. 'Do you ever miss the apocalypse?'

He narrowed his eyes, appearing confused. Ah, back to the old, familiar, socially awkward Castiel. 'Why would I miss the end of days?'

She took another swig. 'Everything was cleaner, then. Now it's all messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks … and you're kind of bad.' She looked him directly in the eye. 'Which is, actually, all _manner_ of hot.'

She could have sworn that the hand still clasping hers trembled a little. So there was still some vestige of human left in the shell that wrapped the celestial being so fetchingly. She thought she could detect a slight flush in his vessel's cheeks as well. Dean had said something about Castiel being a bit off his game since being sprung from purgatory. Meg didn't buy that for one second. She liked the new, take-charge Castiel almost more than the old, shy, reticent one. That glimpse she'd had, about a year ago, of what he was like when he took what he wanted … God, she could use some of that right now. She wished the Winchesters weren't right in the next room.

Hell, what are you talking about, girl? Her inner voice argued. Who _cares_ if the Winchesters are in the next room?! You're having a moment, here. You've gotta take this window, 'cause you might not get another one. Ever.

She had a line in her head about ordering pizza if they survived all of this – the search for Lucifer's crypts; the probability of running into Crowley and getting very dead – but the demon in her nixed the flirting and went straight for the jugular. Before the angel knew what hit him she'd traversed the space between them and straddled his lap.

'What are you doing?' he murmured as she nibbled his neck.

God, he smelled so good. Was that the angel in him, or some heavenly new cologne by Hugo Boss?

'Someone could walk in any minute.'

'I don't care.' Meg whispered in his ear. She loosened the blue tie. 'I want pizza.'

There it was: the trigger phrase. His hands closed around her hips, almost painfully. For a second she thought he was going to set her aside, get up and walk out. On the contrary, he pulled her closer. Wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. Forced her lips onto his.

Now, _this_ is the kind of rough I could get used to, Meg thought. Holy water, salt and iron, be damned. I'll take fallen angel any day! He knew how to kiss, too. She felt it _everywhere._ An old, familiar heat filled her thighs as his tongue flickered against hers. It had been a while – a long while – in between drinks but Meg vaguely remembered what it felt like to have a man's hands roam her body. Her human body, that is. Not the vessel she inhabited now. The scar tissue on this one was so thick she was afraid not even an angel's touch could penetrate it.

'Cas, we're heading out,' Dean called through the door. 'Cas?'

'Yeah … I heard you,' Castiel hollered back, in between kisses.

'He's indisposed,' Meg shouted. Dean said something that through the door sounded like 'half your luck' but it wouldn't have been. Couldn't have been … could it? She knew the angel and the hunter were close, but not _that_ close. Still, she did detect more than a whiff of gay on the eldest Winchester, and she wouldn't have blamed him for harbouring the most secret of crushes. Hell, she knew exactly what _that_ was like.

Thankfully, Dean was a righteous wingman. The door remained closed. Meg resumed festivities, tugging the angel's tie from around his neck and unfastening the buttons on his white shirt, feverishly. His lips grazed her cheek and jawline, played on the skin below her ear. His hands tucked her newly blonde hair behind her ears and closed around her throat. Oh, so here it is, she thought, waiting for his thumbs to jam into her windpipe. He's been buttering me up all this time just so he could get close enough to … no, wait … what's this?!

Castiel's hands slid over Meg's shoulders, his mouth lingering on the curve of her neck. Her own hands – or rather, her vessel's hands – had come to a stop against his chest, which was as still as the dead. Angels don't have to breathe, she remembered. It was a pity. It would have been nice to feel the speed of his respirations; a quickened heartbeat beneath her palm. It would have been a sign he felt as charged about this as she did. One bodily function he did still share with his vessel pressed against the front of her jeans. Meg's need almost consumed her. The ache between her thighs intensified, and she sought to drive it out by grinding against him, but that only made matters worse.

Perhaps sensing her frustration with how fast things were moving – or weren't – he quickly relieved her of her blouse and slid the straps of her bra down her shoulders. Meg helped by reaching behind and working the clasp open. She liked the look of desire in his dark blue eyes when she was revealed to him. The scars didn't seem to matter. Maybe he didn't see them. A thumb passed over the nipple on her right breast. His touch was light; gentle. Such a departure from the King of Hell. No, you don't want to think about _that_ , her inner voice commanded. Talk about a cold shower!

'He hurt you.' Castiel's voice was raspier than usual. So he had noticed the scars. They were faded now, but still visible. Criss-crossing her décolletage. When she remembered how close Crowley had come to taking off a nipple with his knife, she shuddered. Castiel responded by pressing his lips against her collarbone, then the swell of her breast. Meg closed her eyes and willed away the onset of tears. This was no time to get sappy and sentimental, thinking about how long it had been since someone had been kind to her. Not when the angel was setting her skin on fire – in a good way! Eager to get things moving, she gripped his chin and lifted his face to meet hers. 'Let's just do this,' she said. 'I don't go in for foreplay.'

'That's a pity,' he replied, as she snaked her hand down between their bodies and unbuckled his belt. 'I do.'

'How do you know what you go in for?' she asked him. 'I thought you angels didn't have moving parts.'

'We don't. But spending time with Sam and Dean … let's just say there's a lot of time to sit in motel rooms and watch midday movies.'

'Porn, you mean.'

He chuckled, clearly embarrassed. 'Yeah. And I learned what I … what my vessel likes. And what women like.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'What kind of porn is this? Not the pizza man, I take it.'

'No, the pizza man doesn't do foreplay either.'

'My kind of guy.'

'I might change your mind about that. If you let me.'

Meg's cheeks got hot. 'I don't know if we have time for that. The others might be back again soon.'

'Dean won't disturb us. He tried to get me uh … serviced, once before.'

'Laid,' Meg chuckled. 'He tried to get you laid. Yeah. That sounds like him.'

'We visited a den of iniquity. It was … uncomfortable.'

'He took you to a brothel?'

Castiel cleared his throat with a cough. 'Yes. It didn't end well.'

The idea of the angel and a prostitute was enough to stoke the fires of jealousy in the pit of Meg's gut. She knew it was ridiculous – she had him right here and now, what was there to get jealous about? But there it was. The barest spark of human emotion she was capable of, and it was almost too painful to endure.

'You're cuter when you're not talking,' she told him. 'Kiss me.'

He did as he was told, and did it so well that Meg almost forgot where she was. One of his hands cupped her breast and squeezed it, coaxing the nipple until it was stiff and hard. The other sat on her hip, his thumb tickling the skin just above the waistband of her jeans. He had amazing dexterity for an angel who, until roughly a year ago, knew zilch about sex. Then he amped things up by unzipping her jeans and sliding his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. Meg gasped into his mouth. All ideas of moving past foreplay to the main event left her head. Hell; all thought of _anything_ left her head!

His fingers stroked her until a hot blend of pleasure and something akin to pain but not quite caused her to bury her face in his neck. He took that as a sign not to stop but to increase the speed and pressure of his fingers against her most private places. Meg tugged on the lapels of Castiel's trench coat, as she would have tugged on bed sheets if they'd been in bed. Her need at a peak, she tried to pull away from him. It was too much.

He seemed to sense that she'd moved past mere foreplay. His hand slipped out of her jeans and he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her as if she was no heavier than a child. Placing her on the table behind her, Castiel shrugged off his trench coat, letting it puddle at his feet. Meg's eyes couldn't help taking in his smooth, perfect chest between the open edges of his shirt. She reached for the waistband of his pants and pulled him close. 'My turn,' she whispered, unzipping him and curling a hand around his vessel's cock. The angel stiffened reflexively. She watched the expression on his face as she slid her hand up and down the shaft, slowly at first, then faster as his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. If angels had needed to breath he would have been panting by now, Meg thought. She cupped his balls and squeezed. His eyes snapped open.

'Did I hurt you?'

'No,' he murmured. 'I just never … Do that again.'

She did and he bit his lip. Frowned as if in pain. His shoulders shook slightly. Meg leaned forward and kissed his collarbone. His skin tasted like salt and citrus blended together. Like a margarita, she thought, and had to stifle a giggle. She pulled his skin into her mouth and played at it with her teeth, sucking gently. Castiel tugged the waistband of her jeans down, lifting her off the surface of the table and then setting her back down. The table was cool under her ass but Meg didn't mind. It was in direct contrast to the rest of her. 'Come here,' she whispered, wrapping her legs around the angel's slim waist, trapping him. She freed him from the confines of his Jockey shorts, pushing them and his pants down his thighs. She enjoyed the look on his face as she guided him inside her; how his eyes widened and his cheeks flushed.

'You have to move a bit,' she reminded him, with a slight smile. 'That's the whole point.'

'Oh … yes, of course.' He blinked and began to move his hips back and forth, his face serious as if he were studying for a test. Meg reached up and ran a fingertip over his furrowed brow. 'Don't concentrate so hard, you'll give your vessel a stroke,' she laughed. 'It's not rocket science.'

He tried valiantly to relax his face but the result was almost comical, and it was an effort not to laugh. That would _not_ be conducive to a good time, her inner voice scolded. So she kept her eyes fixed instead on the fascinating little dip between his collarbones, watching as the smooth skin there developed a patina of perspiration. That was until the difference in height between the table and the angel's pelvis forced him to change his angle – and suddenly sex was a whole new ballgame! He leaned over her, forcing her to lie back against the marbled Formica, and grabbed the edge of the table by her head. His thrusts became desperate and almost violent. She wrapped her legs around him anew and held him tight against her.

Her orgasm – the second in less time than it took to summon a demon – came at her with full force. Meg arched her back and turned her head away. She didn't like the idea of him seeing her lose control like that. It was like giving him a power that wasn't his to take. The guy had enough power already – he was an angel, for Christ's sake. He could smoke you out of your meat-suit without a word, unlike the Winchesters, who had to rely on an incantation to exorcise demons. He could kill her if he wanted to. It would be easier than snapping his fingers. For most women, that thought would be enough to kill the passion right there and then, but Meg was no ordinary woman. To say it heightened the pleasure to think of the inherent danger of what she was doing was an understatement. She gasped and let out a small moan. A few thrusts later, he leaned in and kissed her shoulder, exploding inside her.

Meg wasn't the type to cuddle after sex but when he collapsed over her, she couldn't help but reach up and rake her fingers through his short dark hair. It was a lot softer than it looked. His firm, lean body melded into hers; his cheek lay over her heart. Unlike angels, who had total and complete mastery over their vessels, demons were at the mercy of a heartbeat and respirations, and Meg struggled to bring both under control.

'Your heart's racing,' Castiel informed her, needlessly. 'It sounds like it's trying to beat its way right out of your ribcage.'

'Well, you _do_ have that effect on me,' she admitted, with a self-deprecating chuckle. 'As does any form of exercise.' She made a face. 'God, did I just exercise? Kill me now.'

'Oh, I'm not God anymore,' Castiel replied, with that special deadpan delivery of his. Or was he serious? Sometimes with him, it was difficult to tell. 'I wasn't particularly good at it.'

'I wasn't calling _you_ God. I was taking the Lord's name in vain,' Meg informed him. 'Demons do that pretty regularly.'

He raised himself up on an elbow and studied her face. 'You know, I _should_ be offended at that, but I'm really not. I wonder why that is?'

'Maybe you're not the good little boy soldier you used to be,' Meg mused, her fingers mussing his hair. 'Maybe you're getting used to being a rebel. Maybe even getting to like it.'

'Hm. Maybe.' He leaned in and kissed her lips softly; then stood up and proceeded to get dressed while she watched.

'Don't hurry on my account,' she told him, with a grin.

'Oh, I'm not. Dean and Sam will back any minute. I wouldn't want to be caught in a compromising position,' he said, buckling his pants.

'Oh Clarence, they know what we've been doing,' she reminded him. 'And even if they don't, they're big boys. They can take it.' Even if Dean might be a tad jealous, she wanted to add, but didn't. No need to open that particular can of worms.

'Why do you call me that?'

'Clarence?' she chided. 'Would it kill you to watch a movie or read a book? That's all I'm saying. You can have fun figuring it out all by your lonesome.' She sat up and slid off the table, scanning the floor for her underwear. 'I've got to show Rocky and Bullwinkle out there where to find those crypts before the Boss Man catches up with us.'

'Meg.'

She turned for one last look at the pretty boy angel, unaware that it was indeed the last chance she would ever have to clap eyes on him. He was buttoning up his shirt. Before he could fasten the top two buttons, she closed the distance between them and put a hand over his. 'Leave it,' she said. 'Leave them undone. And the tie off. It's sexier that way.'

His eyes took in her naked body appreciatively, but not sleazily. 'I wish I could say the same for you. But I think you might get hauled in for indecent exposure.'

'Oh, hardy-har,' she cackled, stepping into her panties. 'Not before I get my ass smoked by Crowley. If he catches me here, helping the Winchesters …'

'Don't talk like that. I'll kill him myself before he has a chance to lay a finger on you.'

'My hero,' Meg joked. 'Anyone ever tell you the chivalry's supposed to come _before_ the sex?' She found her bra and fastened the clasp in front before twisting it around and sliding her arms through the straps.

'Huh,' said Castiel. 'So _that's_ how you do it.'

'Well, that's how _I_ do it,' Meg corrected. She pulled on the remainder of her clothes, stepped in close to him and kissed him one last time. 'Thanks for the … well, thanks. That was …' she searched for the word, but came up short. 'Enlightening.'

He appeared confused. 'It wasn't … good?'

'Honey, I'm still having trouble uncurling my toes. What does that tell you?'

He smiled, relieved. 'That's what the lady said to the plumber in Casa Erotica #8. She looked satisfied, so I guess that means I've got nothing to worry about.'

Meg shook her head, amused. 'You're kind of insufferably cute, you know that?' Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his cheek, and then leaned in for a last whiff of that amazing angel scent. Even after their … ahem, exertions, he somehow managed to smell of pine forests, sunshine and the air just before it rains. Damn angels! She kissed her favourite patch of skin, visible just above the last fastened button, and then had to turn and leave; or she never would.

THE END.


End file.
